Life went on, John did not
by TheConsultantSociopath
Summary: "Sherlock…" "MYCROFT! What could possibly be SO important that you would risk expos…" "Sherlock, it's John." A year after The Reichenbach Fall, John goes back to war. When tragedy strikes, Mycroft calls in the very much alive Sherlock Holmes to see John in what could only be considered his last moments. Rated M for future mature themes. Johnlock mxm. Be forewarned.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock…"

"MYCROFT! What could possibly be SO important that you would risk expos…"

"Sherlock, it's John."

The bombs that left his ears ringing no longer phazed John. Nothing phazed John anymore. After a year sitting desolate in 221B trying to overcome the crushing sadness that prevented him from functioning on even basic levels, John had hatched a plan. He had stared at his handgun too many times to count but could never bring himself to pick it up and use it. He had fantasized about going into the kitchen that still had toxic chemicals in strange vials, and smashing them all at once, waiting for the fumes to take him. He had dreamt of going up to the roof at Bart's and taking the same step that Sherlock had taken not so long ago. But he could steal himself to do none of these things. And so, one night after heavy drinking and no small amount of crying, he had sent Mycroft a single text that had started his new plan in motion.

"I want back in. I want to fight. After everything, let me have this. -JW"

And now as John sat with his gun, on watch duty over his team's small encampment, he tried with all his might to keep his mind a blank. A month of re-training had seen him a field operative instead of a doctor (though his talents were still needed now and then) and two months in the field had rendered Dr. John Watson one of the best, though quite brash, field agents there was. But despite the busy days and daily distractions, when John had to be still and alone his mind still ran rampant with the emotions he had run here to hide. At this moment John was particularly perturbed with the image of a man he had seen die three days ago, and the woman he had left behind. They had not appeared to be a couple when a team brought them into the surgery, both badly injured. However, as John was working on the man, and fast learning he would not be surviving, the man turned to the woman and began to speak,

"Fila, man ap kew betana hey…man ney hemashh tem sey paar." He had choked out with what turned out to be his last breath. Checking with a local doctor who volunteered in the surgery he found out that what the man had said was that he had always loved the woman. She had pulled through and when the other doctor had spoken to her she had told him that she and the man had been friends since childhood. But he had never once let on how he truly felt about her until the last moment. John had had to bite his tongue to the point of bleeding not to break down right then.

And now, sitting here in the relative darkness, watching for enemy troops, Watson could not help but examine his feelings for the late Mr. Holmes. As hard as he had tried to deny it to himself and others he knew in his heart of hearts that Sherlock had been his other half. Even if Sherlock was asexual and married to his work, John would have stuck around for the rest of his life because he had… loved Sherlock Holmes. John would do anything to be able to go back and tell Sherlock his feelings and now… Now it was to late and he would be saddled with this, this guilt and self- loathing for never having told the great love of his life that he was just that.

A quiet noise roused John from his reverie and he looked up to find three dark figures a little in the distance, advancing on their camp. He quickly radioed his men,

"Three unsubs on the way from our 8. Be advised they appear armed." John readied his weapon and crouched down, awaiting the figures. They must have seen him adjust his position because at that moment, shots pierced the silence. John felt a bullet graze his bad shoulder and he returned fire, dropping one of the figures. More shots rang out as his team fired on the remaining two men. John moved to find cover but just as he made to dart, he felt a dark, warm heat bloom in his chest. He froze and fell where he stood. He heard the shouts of his second in command, yelling that there was a man down and John could not discern whether or not Hanson mean him or another of their squad. Before he could worry himself to much over it, his world began to blacken and in just a short few seconds he was nearly unconscious. His last thought and words were,

"Hello Sherlock."


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: **

**Hey Guize, sorry for the wait. I have an almost 3 month old son, so my day can get a little crazy trying to do chores, take care of baby, and find new clients for my job. Hope this can get you through another day or two 3- theconsultantsociopath**

Floating.

John was _floating._

Where is Sherlock? Sherlock NEEDS to be here. I'm dead, where THE HELL is he?

Slowly as John sought Sherlock, he began to realize that not only was Sherlock not here, John did not believe he himself was dead. He hurt to much. John could not open his eyes, or move, or even feel his own breathing. But he could feel the PAIN. It was everywhere at once. As if his whole body had been put through a meat tenderizer. But his mind, his mind was free to roam and this, John realized, is where the feeling of floating had come from. However, another feeling was creeping in unannounced. It was a dull, cloying feeling that John took a moment to understand. John was _disappointed._ How sad that he be disappointed that he had lived. But understandable as the doctor thought on it. When he had felt the bullet rip through him, a kind of peace had fallen over him, believing he would soon find his consulting detective. Now, John knew that he would have only recovery to look forward to. Joy.

It occurred to John as he float in his own mind that he might be a bit more entertained if he, like Sherlock, had a mind palace. As it was, it was like a great expanse of white noise that had no particular form or pattern. John began to wonder if he could think hard enough to change his surroundings. Even as he thought that though, he found himself suddenly in 221B again. Sitting in his chair, he stared at the chair across from him. Empty. That same empty chair had tortured him for a year. He had never had the heart to move it. And so, he had sat and stared. As John stared at the chair in his mind he had a wonderful thought. If he could imagine himself back in this place, could he possibly….

John nearly jumped out of skin when he looked up to see none other than Sherlock Holmes, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. As it was, John simply went completely to tears.

"Really John, don't cry. I absolutely cannot be seen with a man who cries." The indignation in Sherlock's voice was uncanny. John thanked his memory for keeping such a good account. His tears slowed to a stop as he looked Sherlock over. He was in his purple silk shirt, tucked into black trousers. John looked up to focus on Sherlock's face. Oh how he had missed this face. As John studied his, Sherlock remain still and pensive, looking almost ad he did when he immersed himself in his mind for those long hours. Without making the conscious decision to do so, John began to speak.

"Sherlock… I… When you… Left, there was so much that I never got to say. So much that I've held inside and it's eating me up. I, I just want you to know…" John paused, gathering his steel to confess to this imaginary man. "I want you to know that I love… Loved you. With all my heart and soul. It started the night I shot a cabbie for you, and grew exponentially over the years. I was afraid to tell you, because I was afraid if you knew you would make me leave. I knew you were not really into relationships, but I would've loved to be able to call you mine. I just…" And here, John broke and began to cry in earnest once more. " I miss you so fucking much! WHY Sherlock?! Why did you do this? How COULD you? You LEFT me!" John could no longer form words at this point, and simply sat, sobs rocking his entire body. Some distant part of himself told him he should be ashamed, but the much larger part was sighing a breath of relief for finally being able to say these things, even if it was only really to himself.

Being upset as John was, he did not realize that his Mind Sherlock had moved, and was now kneeling in front of him, his face just inches from the broken man's.

"John Watson… I…. I love you." Mind Sherlock whispered, freezing John completely. The unbelievableness of what had just been said put a crack in the faux reality john had been operating under. "John, please, John, I'm here. John, HEAR ME." And with such strange words coming from Sherlock, the facade broke and shattered around John, sending him into total, bleak, darkness, his name in Sherlock's deep baritone echoing around him.


	3. Chapter 3

**You guys rock! You all give me strength to write on a regular basis. Thank you so much for your reviews. Special Thanks to LeahMaeLaugh who's enthusiastic reviews always make my day :* Look for your cameo in this chapter, lovely :) Alright guize Lets dive back in.**

Gradually John resurfaced from the blackness. This time the pain was different. Less intense, though still coursing throughout his entire body. John felt a little more in control of himself, and slowly, aiming not to increase the ache in his muscles, began to moved just his fingers. Happy with his ability to move, John tried to shift his entire left arm but found that a piercing tenderness presented itself through John's entire left side.

Wow, left is officially my unlucky side, John thought. He lay there for what felt like quite a while, not quite ready to open his eyes. Or try to move again. But as John lay there, he realized he could hear the beeping of his monitors and the drip of what he assumed was his IV, and it was making him restless. Almost unconsciously he began tapping his left index finger. After several rounds of the same sequence, John realized he was tapping out

"My name. John you are tapping out my name. I can tell that you are awake. Are you coherent this time?" Sherlock's voice came from what John would've described as across the room. He must have ended up with an infection. He must be hallucinating. But he didn't feel hot?... John decided to see just how far his hallucination went and slowly but surely opened his eyes. Imaginary Sherlock had come from across the room to just beside where John lay in his hospital bed. He looked lovely. But the more John gazed at Sherlock, the more he recognized discrepancies from the Sherlock he had seen in his mind. His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and his face and eyes looked so… tired. Sherlock was too thin and had even less color than he had had. Slowly John pulled all this together in his mind.

"Ah, there you go, you've seen it. I am in fact re…" As Sherlock teased John in a mocking voice. The full force of his realization hit him, and Dr. John Watson promptly fell into a dead faint.

Once more John surfaced from the darkness, this time to the voice of his consulting detective.

"I don't _know._ I was just saying that yes, I was in fact real and he just passed out again. Is he alright? Check him!" The concern in Sherlock's voice was beyond disconcerting. His usual aloofness was missing and he seemed genuinely upset. John pondered this as he felt someone step close to his bed, and check all his vitals and the state of his bandages. When they were done, a woman's voice spoke,

"He is fine Mr. Holmes, I _told you_ not to be in here when he woke up. After being shot he didn't very well need his dead friend seemingly come back to life. You would do better to listen to my advice and just leave." The tone of the woman's voice was acidic in nature and John thought that Sherlock must have been driving her crazy.

"Don't worry, the git nearly never listened to me either." John said in a rasping voice. John heard Sherlock's intake of breath, and he was immediately at John's side.

"John, John I'm so sorry. I didn't believe her. I thought you would be okay I didn't mean to…" John, with effort had picked up his right arm and held the palm of his hand to Sherlock.

"Stop. The doctor was right. Shock is not exactly productive after a traumatic experience. But right now Sherlock, I want you to be quite."

"But Jo…" Sherlock started.

"NO Sherlock. Just… No. Just be silent. You can do it, I've seen you do it." John did not raise his voice, but the command in it was apparent. John was still processing that Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes was alive. Now that he was past his moment of shock, a heavy relief set in, But quickly chasing the relief away was anger. Deep, roiling, red anger. John did not want to get himself worked up.

"Would you like me to escort this gentleman out Dr. Watson?" the doctor piped up. The thought made John nearly sick.

"No, Doctor um…"

"Leah Maeson, sir" she replied.

"Well, Dr. Meason, no I would prefer it if Sherlock stayed. You, however may leave. I'm sure you have tests to order and such. Goodbye." John looked away from his doctor as she gave him a sour look and stalked out of the room. John looked back to Sherlock who had retreated back across the room at John's chastisement. "Well, come here. Bring the chair and sit by me. As I told her, I want you here. We have a whole lot to talk about, but right now, I don't have the fortitude to engage in that. So for now, just come sit with me." Sherlock looked slightly confused, but drug the chair over to the bedside and deposited himself in it. John stared at his detective unabashedly, and when he got to Sherlock's eyes he was startled to realize Sherlock was doing the same thing to him. The look in his eyes told John that he wanted to memorize his every detail.

After a while of just staring, Sherlock began to fidget like he needed to say something, but the set of his face said that he was unsure and anxious about it. John marveled at the look of almost _doubt_ on Sherlock's face. John could not wait to hear what was eating Sherlock.

"Well? What is it? I suppose you can talk." As John said this he realized by the way Sherlock's eyes had widened that he hadn't realized John had noticed his unsettled mood. With eyes cast down and a quiet voice, Sherlock spoke,

"You… You spoke while you were out. For the last 3 days you have shaken and moaned… and spoken…" John was quite surprised to know that he had been out so long. And having nightmares too apparently, though he only remembered his dream of Sherlock. "You said many things. Some to do with war, some to do with Harry and some…" Sherlock paused again and John's jaw nearly dropped when _the _Sherlock Holmes _blushed._ "You said… You said…" and lastly in an almost nonexistent whisper

"You said that you loved me."


End file.
